


My Favorite Things

by thedisassociation



Category: Glee
Genre: Alternate Universe, Christmas, F/F, Family
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-12-24
Updated: 2011-12-24
Packaged: 2017-10-27 23:40:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,181
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/301341
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thedisassociation/pseuds/thedisassociation
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There are many things that Santana hates. Her children are not among them. Neither is Rachel Berry. A 1960s AU for the holidays.</p>
            </blockquote>





	My Favorite Things

_Santana, make sure to confirm the number of guests with the caterers. Santana, make sure that you pick up my dry cleaning so that I have something to wear to the party. Santana, make sure that Elizabeth and Thomas have proper clothes for the party. We don't want to a repeat of our Labor Day barbecue. And Santana, for god's sake, will you just keep your mouth shut this time? I get enough shit from my boss without him thinking that I let my wife disobey me and our children run wild._

Santana hates everything. If pressed, she could name dozens of things that she hates. She hates the smell of scotch that clings to her husband's breathe every time he leans in to kiss her when he comes home late from the office. She hates the way he shoves his tongue down her throat and hovers of her, his sweaty hands palming at her breasts and lifting her nightgown up. She hates the look that he gives her when she tells him to stop, that knowing look that says that he understands why she doesn't want to have sex with him. She hates that he makes her have sex with him anyway.

She hates the way that James looks at their children. Santana hates that he tries to force her to brush Elizabeth's hair a certain way and then yells at her when it's not done right. She hates when he calls their son  _Thomas_ , because she most definitely named him  _Tomas_. James makes her pulls Liz's hair too tight in a braid and call their son  _Thomas_  when they have company over and she hates that, too.

Santana hates playing the dutiful housewife to a man that she doesn't love. She hates her husband and hates the feeling of being trapped, like she's being smothered by rules and expectations that settle in her chest until she can't breathe.

More than anything, Santana hates Christmas. When she was a little girl, it was her favorite time of year; she would turn up the radio so that she could listen to Bing Crosby or Brenda Lee sing her favorite songs while she decorated the house with her mother. They would twirl around and sing "Let It Snow" together. The ornaments on their tree would shine brightly and she could stare at them for hours, watching her reflection change or the light bounce off of the baubles and on to her face. She was the first person awake on Christmas morning, excited to see what gifts she would get - apples and oranges, or maybe a doll if she was lucky. Her family never had much money, but she had been happy.

And now? Now Santana spends her days organizing a holiday party for her husband's associates and their snotty wives. She hates all of them, the uptight men in business suits who smoke cigars and make crude jokes about their secretaries when they think that no one is listening. They drag James out to bars after work and he comes home reeking of cigarettes and alcohol and the perfume of other women.

Their wives are all just as bad, gossiping about their neighbors and bickering amongst themselves. As soon as a woman is out of earshot, they'll start talking about how her husband is cheating on her or what a failure she is as a mother because her teenage daughter was kissing a boy in public.

It's the most ridiculous thing that Santana has ever heard. It's 1964 and everyone she knows is stuck back in the 1950s. They'll talk about her when they think she can't hear them and she hates that most of all - the whispers and the voices that seem to follow her around. They'll say things like, "That dress is a beautiful color but do you see how short the hem is?" and "Their children are so sweet but do they have to look so  _ethnic_  like they're mother?"

Santana hates James and she hates the things that he makes her do and she hates that she lets him get away with treating her the way he does. But the judgemental looks and the gossip and the things that they say about her? Santana hates them almost as much as she hates Christmas.

It was once her favorite time of year, but now all she can do is try to smile and bear the tightness that builds up in the back of her head.

* * *

Santana slips her earrings in and runs a hand over her dress, smoothing it down. She smirks at her reflection, throwing her hair over her shoulder. It's curled slightly and falls across her shoulders and down her back. Her dress is red, flared out at the waist and ending mid-thigh. It's a little more risque than the stuck-up wives of her husband's associates are going to like and James is going to absolutely hate it. Her smirk widens.

He strides into the room them, carting their daughter into the room and sitting her down on the bed. James is handsome enough in his tailored black suit, the dark green of his tie standing out against his white shirt. He got a haircut, she notes, his blonde hair already styled impeccably.

"You're wearing  _that_?" he says immediately, eyeing Santana's dress. His eyes rake over her cleavage and down her legs and she tries not to shudder. " Will you please change into something a little more modest, dear?"

Santana rolls her eyes. "What's wrong with this?" she asks with a sigh.

"You look like a whore," he shoots back. "Change your clothes and for the love of god, will you please fix out daughter's hair? The bartender doesn't have my boss's favorite scotch and the singer still isn't here. A little help would be nice," James pleads.

Santana strides past him, sitting next to the little girl. Elizabeth is eight and she's a quiet child, shy and uncomfortable around people. Santana brushes a few stray tendrils of curly hair out of her face. "Liz's hair looks fine," she says, more to her daughter than her husband. She smiles at the girl, running her fingers across Elizabeth's cheeks.

"It's a mess," he mutters, gesturing at the little girl on the bed. He sighs, "Just fix it, Santana, and then go check with the caterers to make sure that the food is ready."

James fixes his tie and drops a kiss atop Santana's head. Sometimes, he tries to be more than he really is and it doesn't work for either of them.

"And her name is Elizabeth, not Liz," he adds, grabbing his cuff-links and pulling the door closed behind him.

"I think you look really pretty, momma," Elizabeth says after a moment, frowning after her father.

"Thanks, baby," Santana grins, pulling her daughter up into her lap.

Elizabeth is kind and gentle and loving, with soft brown eyes and light brown skin. She likes to read and she writes little poems and songs that she shares with Santana sometimes. Liz and Tomas are her light and if there's anything that keeps Santana going, it's the sight and thought of her children. The thought of them gets her up in the morning and makes sure that she keeps living and fighting and  _being_. Santana hates James, but he gave her some wonderful children that she wouldn't trade for anything.

"Have you seen your brother?" she asks, threading her fingers through Elizabeth's hair and smoothing it down. She pulls it back into a ponytail, letting the ends curl naturally.

Liz hands her a red ribbon. "He's downstairs. I saw him talking to the piano guy even though daddy said not to," she says.

Santana nods, lifting the girl off of her lap until she's standing. She reaches out and fixes Elizabeth's dress. It's bright red, the skirt flaring out over layers of white ruffles. She has matching shoes and a little necklace with a small snowflake charm. Liz nudges the ground with the toe of one of her matching red shoes, biting her lip.

Santana leans forward, kissing the girl's cheek lightly. "What's wrong, babygirl? It's almost Christmas; you should be happy," she tells her. It feels like a lie and Santana hates telling it, but it feels necessary. She doesn't want her children to be as unhappy and as pressured and sad as she is.

Elizabeth shrugs. "Can I tell you a secret?"

"Of course."

Elizabeth cups her fingers and Santana smiles softly, pressing her ear against her daughter's small hands. "I don't think daddy likes me very much," she whispers, pulling back immediately and staring at the floor.

Santana knows the look on her daughter's face, the look of sadness and self-loathing. It hits her in the chest and she struggles to take in a breath. Liz's face shows all of the pressure and insecurity and Santana  _knows_  it. "Your daddy loves you, Liz," she starts. "And you know what?"

Elizabeth hums, looking up at Santana.

" _I_  love you,  _hermosa_ ," she says, cupping Elizabeth's cheeks. "You're my whole world and you're the most beautiful little girl that I know.  _Te amo_."

Elizabeth grins, bouncing on the balls of her feet. " _Te amo,_ " she repeats excitedly. It's a rare treat for them to speak Spanish (James doesn't like it and Santana makes sure they only use it when he's not around.)

"Now, let's go find Tomas," she says. She pulls away and stands up, grabbing Elizabeth's hand and twirling her around until she giggles. It brings a smile to Santana's face and lets her temporarily forget about how horrible this party is going to be.

* * *

Santana finds Tomas just where she expects him to be, sitting on the piano bench next to a kind-looking man with shaggy hair and a beard. Tomas is talking nonstop and the man is nodding politely.

Where Elizabeth is quiet and shy, Tomas and loud and talkative. He's six, with deep brown eyes, shaggy brown hair, and a mouth that never closes. He's obsessed with music and Santana often finds him sneaking out of bed to listen to albums in the study.

On some nights, Santana decides to join him and he tells all about the games that he likes to play with his friends at school and about the little girls in his class that tell him how cute he is. She carries Liz downstairs, too, and Liz sits there quietly while he talks, leaning against Santana's arm and bobbing her head to the music.

A woman is standing next to him, her hair pulled back out of her face and cascading over her shoulders. She's flipping through sheet music on top of the piano and Santana assumes that she is the singer her husband hired for the evening, some up-and-coming Broadway performer from the city.

Tomas says something and the woman laughs, her face lighting up. Her dress is nice, gathering at the waist and flaring out, the skirt covered in blue snowflakes that grow progressively larger the closer the dress gets to the floor. The woman is beautiful and Santana wonders if James is screwing her, too.

"Momma, come here," Tomas calls out, waving to her.

Santana cringes, walking across their large living room to the piano. Elizabeth follows along, ducking behind her slightly. "Tomas," she chides, "use your inside voice."

He grins. "Sorry," he says. "I just got essited."

"It's  _excited_ ," she corrects. "And don't apologize to me. I think you should apologize for bothering these lovely people," she says, not unkindly, turning her gaze to the woman across from her. She's sure that if Tomas had been causing trouble, they would have asked him to leave, but Santana decides that if better that she gently scolds him before James finds out.

"Oh, he hasn't been a bother at all," the woman says immediately, smiling. She ruffles Tomas's hair and the boy blushes. "Tomas has just been informing us of his favorite songs and suggesting that we perform some of them this evening."

"So you  _are_  the singer, then," Santana says.

The woman nods, holding out her hand. "I'm Rachel Berry," she grins. "Broadway extraordinaire and diva at your service. You might have heard of me. I have quite the extensive resume and while I was initially undecided about performing at a holiday party, I have never passed up an opportunity to perform."

"Santana," she greets politely, shaking the hand offered to her. "Sorry, I've never heard of you. We don't get into the city much these days," she admits. "But I'm sure you're lovely."

Rachel raises an eyebrow at her, still smiling.

"A lovely singer," Santana corrects herself, chuckling breathily. Rachel Berry has a kind smile and kind eyes and a kind face and she's even prettier up close. If her husband really has slept with this woman, she's going to hate him even more, and she's not even sure why. It would just be a shame for this woman to be wasted on someone like her husband. "I'm sure you're a lovely singer."

Rachel continues to smile at her. "This is Brad," she says, gesturing tabsently owards the man sitting on the piano bench. He nods at her and says nothing. "And who is this lovely young lady?" Rachel asks, moving around the piano and kneeling slightly.

Elizabeth is still hiding behind Santana, clinging to her dress and biting her lip. Santana slides an arm around her shoulder and pulls her around until she's standing next to Santana instead of behind her. She nudges the little girl slightly. "I'm Liz," she mutters.

"That's a cute name," Rachel says kindly. "I like your dress, Liz. It's very pretty."

The little girl smiles slightly and squeezes Santana's hand. "Thank you," she mutters.

"It's Elizabeth, actually," says a voice.

Santana rolls her eyes as James comes up next to her. He wraps an arm around her waist. "She prefers to be called Elizabeth," he adds.

Rachel rises back up to her full height, which Santana sees is not saying much. Rachel is small and compact and really kind of pretty and it makes Santana's insides jump for a moment. She doesn't know what to do with the feeling, but it's not bad or unwelcome.

James's arm is tight around her waist and his cologne fills her nostrils and she feels like she's about to choke on it. She chooses to look at Rachel and lets the strange feeling the woman gives her fill up her body instead.

"Hello, James," Rachel says politely. "I was just introducing myself to your wife. You have a  _lovely_ family," she winks at Santana. "Your children are beautiful."

James smiles, resting his hand on Elizabeth's shoulder. " _Thomas_ , come here," he says. He smiles, but Santana can see that it doesn't reach his eyes. James is fake, as fake as she is most of the time, but she hates that he can't even bring himself to be anything more with his family and the nice woman standing with them.

Tomas rises obediently, moving to stand next to his father uncomfortably. He says nothing and they all stand there in silence for a few seconds. Santana can feel Rachel's eyes on her, but she looks at Elizabeth instead, the little girl leaning back against her legs.

The doorbell rings and Santana exhales gratefully.

"Santana, sweetheart, go greet our guests, won't you?" James says, squeezing her hip. His grip is firm and tight and Santana tries not frown. She hates the way he grabs her.

"Excuse me, Miss Berry," she nods. "Will you take the children to the nanny?" to asks James.

Elizabeth clings to her hand but eventually lets go as James takes her from Santana. She looks up at her mother with wide, pleading eyes and Santana runs a hand over her back.

Rachel is still looking at her, staring at her like she knows all of Santana's secrets and all of the things that she hides. It makes her skin crawl and her heart pound.

James takes the children away and the doorbell rings again.

"Call me Rachel," she says. She's still smiling and Santana walks away before Rachel really does find out all of her secrets and the things that she hides. She feels like she's running away from something and she hates it.

* * *

The party picks up quickly as more and more people arrive. Elizabeth and Tomas stay with their nanny, greeting everyone politely as James has instructed them. Santana hears the whispers that she knew she would ("They're such sweet children. It's a shame they look like their mother.")

Santana tries to play the dutiful hostess, greeting everyone with a smile and taking their jackets. She hears more whispers that she knew she would ("Do you see how short her dress is? And how low that top is? I didn't know James had married  _that_  kind of woman.")

"Hello, Santana," she hears, pasting on smile and turning to speak to another new arrival. Her smile widens and becomes more real when she sees Samuel Evans standing in front of her. "You look beautiful."

"Sam," she grins, wrapping her arms around him. She's aware of people watching them hug ("I wonder if she's sleeping with him."), but she kisses Sam on the cheek anyway. "I'm so glad that you could make it."

"You know I would never miss a chance to spend time with you," he grins. "I feel like I've hardly seen you lately."

"I've been busy trying to organize this party," she says. "You understand."

Sam nods. He  _does_  understand. He's Santana's oldest friend and the one person who seems to understand her attitude and how she feels. She wishes sometimes that she could have married Sam instead of James. She thinks of him like a brother, but he's still sweet and kind in ways that her husband will never be.

"I brought gifts for the kids," he tells her.

Santana smiles and takes his scarf, hanging it up with his coat. She takes two small wrapped presents and puts them in the closet. "I'll pass them along," she responds. "But first, I want you to meet someone."

James tells her not to play matchmaker, but Santana has a friend that she thinks might be good for Sam. Quinn Fabray is nice enough. She's a little bit of a gossip sometimes, but she has a sordid enough past (something about a child out of wedlock given up for adoption) that it makes her a little more human and a little more relate-able. She has Santana's same attitude, same sharp tongue and quick wit, and Santana thinks that maybe Sam could use a girl like her.

She's pretty amazing, in her own unbiased opinion, and Quinn is close enough to her that Santana thinks Sam might really like her.

When she introduces them and Sam blushes slightly and Quinn smiles wider than Santana's ever seen, she knows that she's right. She takes a small comfort in watching them act shy with one another, as if they're teenagers again. She crosses her arms and leans back to watch the two of them.

"Santana, still acting the part of the match-maker, I see," someone says.

She turns around to find Kurt Hummel smiling politely, a slightly shorter man with dark styled hair next to him. They're both wearing suits and Kurt has paired his with a red tie while the man with him wears a black bowtie. They look stylish next to one another.

"It's my job to keep our guests happy," she smirks, raising up as Kurt kisses her on the cheek. "And who is this?"

"Santana, this is Blaine Anderson," he says, sharing a look with the other man, "my  _friend_."

Blaine holds out a hand in greeting. "You have a lovely home," he smiles. He shares another look with Kurt. "And we're roommates, actually."

They have a silent disagreement that Santana doesn't understand. They make faces at one another for a few seconds before they turn back to her with matching smiles, as if she hadn't just watch them practically pantomiming a whole conversation. She smiles back, but raises an eyebrow at them.

"That's a beautiful dress, Santana," Kurt says. "It's very...1965."

"It's 1964," she laughs.

"Exactly," he winks.

"Hello, Kurt," Sam says from near them, Quinn standing beside him in a cream-colored evening gown.

Kurt and Sam shake hands and Santana sees a silent conversation occur between them. "Sam, it's always a pleasure," Kurt greets him. He politely shakes Quinn hand and introduces Blaine, a slight edge to his voice as he stares at Sam.

There are more conversations that happen without words, most of them between Kurt, Blaine, and Sam. Santana doesn't know what to do with it all, but it makes her feel awkward and uncomfortable. She shares a look with Quinn, shrugging.

"Are you boys alright?" Quinn asks, smiling at Sam.

Sam's cheeks flush and he ducks his head. "Yeah, we're fine. Right, Kurt?"

Kurt simply nods.

Santana hears the piano start to play softly and sighs gratefully. She was starting to hear people talk about how quiet it was and wondering why the hostess hadn't started any music for their entertainment. No matter how much James did to prepare for their parties, much of the work fell to her (and so did the blame.)

Kurt peers around them, stepping closer to Blaine and looking towards the corner of the room. "Oh my god, is that Rachel Berry? I didn't even know that she performed at private parties."

Santana turned her head to look back at Rachel, who was standing in front of the piano at a microphone. "You've heard of her?"

"Heard of her?" Kurt cries. "Blaine and I have seen every show that she's been in," he says quickly, putting a hand on Blaine's arm. "She's amazing."

"Yeah, that's what she told me," Santana says.

Rachel starts singing, then, and Santana realizes quickly that it's very true. She's a little over-the-top and she makes a few funny faces, but she's intentionally cheesy in a fun way that puts a smile on Santana's face and reminds her of the way the holidays are supposed to be - light and cheerful and full of music. Rachel Berry is  _definitely_ amazing.

And Santana can see pretty quickly that she's not the only one who thinks so. Tomas is standing with Elizabeth and their nanny, a sweet girl named Tina, and he looks awestruck. His eyes are wide and his mouth is hanging open while he stares at Rachel. It's the first time that Santana has seen him stop talking all night. When Rachel winks at him, Santana thinks he might faint.

Kurt nudges Santana with his elbow. "If you don't close your mouth, you'll catch flies," he mutters with a knowing look. Santana isn't sure what he knows but he seems to know  _something_.

Santana thinks that she might actually be blushing and she realizes that she's been staring at Rachel intently for longer than is proper. She can hardly tear her eyes away from the woman singing and she finds that she doesn't really want to.

As Rachel finishes her first song, everyone applauds and she thanks them, beaming. She's beautiful and Santana wants nothing more than to go over to her, to talk to her and listen to her sing and actually tell her all of those secrets and hidden things inside of her that she thinks Rachel can see anyway. Rachel makes eye contact with her and her smile softens and Santana's doesn't know what it means, but it even  _feels_ beautiful to her.

* * *

"Santana, please go change now," James says, coming up next to her.

She realizes that she's been standing alone near the open bar watching Rachel sing for a long enough time that Blaine and Kurt have wandered off. She spies Sam and Quinn across the room, talking quietly to each other. James is standing next to her, nodding politely to one of his coworkers nearby.

"What?"

"You've paraded around in that dress long enough," he tells her. "Please go put something nice on now, something a little classier maybe."

"Excuse me?" she cries. A couple of people next to them shoot them a look and Santana crosses her arms. "James, you're being ridiculous. There's nothing wrong with this dress."

"Everyone's been talking about you, Santana," he mutters, sending the people next to them a smile. "They've been talking about what a horrible hostess you're being, hiding back here in the corner and not making sure that the waiters and waitresses are serving everyone drinks and hors d'oeuvres."

Santana scoffs. "And what does that have to do with what I'm wearing?"

"I don't like it," he says immediately. "I don't like you showing yourself off like this. How do you think it makes me feel?"

James gets a look on his face, something pouty and kind of sad. Santana knows exactly what he's trying to do: he's trying to make her feel guilty and she's not going to have it.

She hears Rachel segue into yet another song, her brilliant voice ringing out over their guests. It washes over her and fills her up with something she can't place. Rachel looks at her again, just looks at her with her bright eyes and sweet smile, and she feels like she's about to combust.

"It should make you feel happy to have such a beautiful wife who puts so much effort into trying to please the people who sign your checks," she replies, heading towards the bar and leaving him alone.

* * *

There are plenty of servers walking around offering people champagne but Santana's not really in the mood to drink any of it. Eyes are on her again,  _knowing_  eyes, and though she isn't sure who they belong to this time, she can feel them nonetheless. She ignores them and orders two martinis, making a split-second decision that she hopes she won't regret.

She waits patiently for Rachel to finish her current song, striding up to her confidently before she can start singing again. "I thought you might want a drink," Santana says.

Rachel smiles and steps away from the microphone, telling Brad to take five. He doesn't move, leaning back on the bench and resting his hands in his lap. Santana shoots him a look in question and Rachel waves her hand. "Don't mind him. Brad's a bit like furniture," she explains.

Santana grins and hands Rachel one of the martinis. They move slightly off to the side of the area where the piano is and Santana leans back against the wall casually.

"So," she starts, "my friend Kurt tells me that you're kind of a big deal in Broadway."

Rachel nods, "I tried telling you that before."

"And you're so modest," Santana responds, smirking.

Rachel grins and takes a sip of her martini. "Of course. Rising stars are still just rising, after all," she says. "I would hate to alienate potential fans before I've made them."

"Well, I can think of one fan that you've already made."

Rachel turns curious eyes towards her and Santana swears she sees the other woman blush. "Oh?"

"Yes, I think Tomas is in love," Santana laughs.

"Oh," Rachel smiles, turning away from her and waving towards Tomas.

Santana waves to him as well, watching him beam at them and bounce up and down. He tugs on Tina's arm and points at them. Santana can see him pleading with Tina, grinning and begging. James would be displeased at his behavior and Santana hates herself for even having such a thought because she loves Tomas's enthusiasm; it's infectious.

"They definitely take after their mother," Rachel says after a moment, exaggerating throwing her arm and waving Tina and the two children over.

Santana remembers Rachel saying that Liz and Tomas are beautiful and when Rachel smiles at her, she's pretty sure that Rachel is calling  _her_  beautiful, too. She doesn't know what to do with the feeling in her stomach and the way warmth spreads across her cheeks and her heart, so she nods to Tina so that it's okay for the children to come over. Tina pushes them forward, gesturing towards the bar and Santana nods again, permitting her to have a drink.

Tomas reaches them first, breaking away from Tina and running across half of the room. He comes to a sudden halt just in front of them and stuffs his hands in his pockets. "Hello, Miss Berry," he says politely. Santana has never seen him act so shy before.

"Hi, Tomas," Rachel smiles, placing her martini on a table near them. Liz reaches them then, standing behind her brother.

"You sing really pretty," he says, staring at the floor. "And you look real pretty, too."

Rachel giggles at him, placing a hand on his shoulder. "Thank you, Tomas. You're very sweet," she replies.

Tomas ducks his head down even further and his cheeks burn a bright red. Santana watches their interaction with interest, seeing Tomas's embarrassment and the way that Liz is smiling. Rachel whispers something in Tomas's ear and he nods. "You look real pretty, too, momma," he says.

Santana can't help the smile that comes across her face and the way her stomach tightens. She's never felt so utterly enamoured with anything before and she doesn't know what to do with the feeling so she just settles for smiling.

She watches Rachel whisper into Tomas's ear again and this time, he pulls away and sticks his tongue out. "Liz isn't pretty. She's my sister," he cries.

"Tomas," she scolds immediately.

Rachel gets to Liz before she does, pulling the little girl up to her and wrapping an arm around her waist. "Tomas, that's a horrible thing to say," she says. Liz's lower lip trembles and Santana's heart breaks. "Your sister is beautiful, Tomas," Rachel continues. "She's very pretty. Just like her mother," she adds.

Liz says nothing, staring at the ground like she's waiting for it to swallow her whole.

Rachel brushes a hand over Liz's hair, raising her chin up. "Plenty of people have told me that I'm not pretty, either, and I've learned that you can't listen to people who say mean things about you. You just have to believe in yourself and know that they're wrong," she says. "You're a gorgeous girl, Liz, and don't let anyone tell you anything different, okay?"

Santana feels like some of the pieces of her heart that broke for her daughter get put back together. And if the look on Liz's face tells her anything, it's that Rachel's put her heart back together a little bit, too. "Apologize to your sister, Tomas," she says simply, placing her barely-touched martini on the table next to Rachel's.

"I didn't mean it, Liz," he smiles. "You're pretty and stuff.  _Lo siento_."

And just like that James is there upon them, proving to Santana that he has the absolute worst timing possible. He's always there when she doesn't want him to be and from the looks on her children's faces, they feel the same way she does. And she hates that, that she can't just be happy with her husband so that their family can be happy.

"What was that, Thomas?" he says. "I hope you're not bothering Miss Berry while she's trying to work."

Tomas shrugs.

"What did you say, Thomas?" James asks, his voice firm.

" _Lo siento_ ," he repeats quietly.

"Santana, I told you that I didn't want them speaking that language," James says, turning towards her.

"What language would that be,  _sweetheart?_  You mean  _my_  language?" she replies, crossing her arms. Santana sees Liz take Rachel's hand, tugging on it and cupping her hands to whisper something in Rachel's ear.

Rachel nods at the little girl and stands back up. "Excuse me," she smiles politely. "I should get back to work."

James nods at her. "Children, go find Tina. She's in the kitchen. Tell her that I said it's time for bed," he instructs them.

"Dad," Tomas whines. Liz frowns next to him. "I want to stay for the rest of the party."

"Do as you're told,  _Thomas_."

Tomas glares for a moment, kicking at the floor. He wraps his arms around Santana's legs and Liz follows his lead, coming in to hug her from the other side. She wishes them good night and tells them to have sweet dreams and hates her husband and holiday parties and the whole damn English language.

"I'm just trying to do what's best for them, Santana," James says. He has an excuse and something judgemental to say about  _everything_  and Santana hates that he ruins every calm moment she has with her children. He's ruined moments with Rachel, too. "They're ostracized enough already."

Santana can hear the whispers again, the dull buzz that seems to follow her around when she least wants it to. ("They'd just be so much cuter if they were  _white_  like their father.")

She says nothing and when she turns away from James, he leaves her.

She hears Rachel clear her throat. "Hello, everyone," she says. "This will be my final song of the evening and I would like to dedicate it to someone special who hopefully knows who they are."

Rachel shoots a quick look at Santana as Brad begins to play the piano. Rachel smiles and Santana recognizes the music immediately. It's Elizabeth's favorite song and every time Santana sneaks her to the study with Tomas to listen to music in the middle of the night, she always asks if they can listen to it (Liz decided the first time she listened to John Coltrane play it that she would learn how to play an instrument one day.)

Rachel had sung every single song with perfection all evening, but there's something about the way that she performs  _My Favorite Things_  that makes Santana stop in her tracks and stare helplessly. She can't decide if it's because she realizes that Liz had asked Rachel to sing it for her or because Rachel was  _actually_  singing to her.

Santana glances around. She sees James across the room, laughing at something with his secretary. She's smiling as she rests her hand on his arm. She drags it down to his wrist and blushes. Kurt and Blaine are chatting near the bar, grinning at each other. Sam and Quinn have made their way to a loveseat, sitting close to one another and continuing to chat. Sam shoots Blaine and Kurt a look, but seems happy to be sitting with Quinn.

There are no knowing looks this time, no people who seem to be staring at her like they know what she's thinking. There are no whispers or voices buzzing around her head and carving out a hole in her stomach. There's just her and Rachel. Santana hates nothing in that moment and she lets herself enjoy it. She lets it wrap around her and it makes her feel like a child again, running into the living room on Christmas morning to greet her parents and her abuela.

Rachel continues to sing, occasionally smiling her way. There's something soft in the way that Rachel looks at her and Santana lets herself enjoy that, too. Rachel hits the last note and something swells up inside Santana, struggling to break free. It wrenches itself out of her heart and Santana feels tears sting her eyes.

The only buzzing now is inside of her, her limbs tingling and her heart racing. And Santana does the only thing she can think to do: she flees, ducking through the kitchen and up the back staircase towards the bedroom that she shares with her husband.

Santana's heart drops somewhere as she reaches the second story landing. She has all of these sudden  _feelings_  and worst of all, she has a  _husband_.

She collapses against the door and lets herself cry and she finally understands why she feels so heavy. She drops to the more, a mess of tears and heartache and confusion.

She's attracted to Rachel. And she doesn't hate the idea of kissing her, of knowing her and of letting Rachel know her back. She doesn't hate it at all.

* * *

Someone knocks on the door and Santana sighs, pulling herself up off the ground. She wipes at her face, tears collecting on her fingertips. It's one of the children, Liz most likely, asking to stay the night because of a bad dream.

Santana straightens out her dress and decides that it doesn't matter if she's attracted to Rachel Berry. She's never going to see Rachel ever again. The holiday party will end and James will write Rachel a check and send her back into the city, to New York City lights and the sounds of Broadway. And Santana would be left with her husband, the way it was meant to be. Right? Right.

She takes a deep breathe and opens the door after another moment, surprised to find not Elizabeth, but Rachel standing there, her hands clasped neatly in front of her.

"Oh, thank goodness. This is the fourth door I've tried and I was about to give up. You have a very large home," Rachel says by way of a greeting.

"I - yes we do," she stutters for a moment, her hand still gripping the doorknob.

"May I come in?"

Rachel's eyes are brighter than Santana has seen them and her expression is soft and all she can do is nod and step aside. It feels like a bad idea, but she's powerless to do anything but let it overtake her.

Rachel brushes past her and she smells like apples and cinnamon and Christmases spent baking cookies in her abuela's kitchen.

Santana shuts the door quietly and leans back against it, watching Rachel's eyes sweep over the bedroom that she shares with James. Rachel turns towards her with that same soft smile that she's been sending at Santana all night and even though it's wrong, Santana can't help but smile back slightly.

"Are you alright? You left so quickly and I suppose that I wanted to see if you enjoyed the song," Rachel says. "I've never seen someone look so sad and lonesome at their own holiday party."

"It was beautiful," Santana says immediately. "You really are a talented singer, Rachel."

"It was Liz's idea," Rachel responds. "She asked me earlier if i would sing it for you and you looked like you could really use a song."

"Thank you," Santana says. She doesn't know what else to say so she says nothing. Rachel says that she's sad and lonely and needs someone to sing to her and maybe all of these things are true, but Santana definitely isn't talking about them. She sees how deep the red of Rachel's lipstick is, how full her lips are, and she hates that everything in her mind is so muddled and confused.

"I think he's sleeping with his secretary," Rachel says after a moment.

"Excuse me?"

"This is merely an observation," Rachel grimaces, "but it seems to me that James is sleeping with his secretary."

Santana snorts. "Yeah,  _his_ secretary, his boss's secretary, and probably the neighbor's secretary, too," she says and even she she feels a little stung by her words.

"I'm sorry," Rachel responds. "It's hardly fair to you and your children, is it? You've made such a beautiful home and raised two beautiful kids."

Santana should tell Rachel to step back out of affairs that don't concern her, but she can't. People don't say such things about her, about Liz and Tomas and their home, and Rachel says it with such sincerity that Santana can feel it in her bones.

"Thank you," she says again.

Rachel just smiles at her again, that soft smile like she knows something important about Santana. Santana catches herself staring at Rachel's lips, her eyes glued to how red they are and how pouty and kissable they look. It's wrong and Santana wants to hate Rachel for looking so pretty that she can't help but stare.

"You never answered my question," Rachel says quietly.

Santana wants even more to hate her and she tries for a moment but all she can do is stare at Rachel's bright eyes and think about how nice her hair looks. The smile slips from Rachel's face and Santana hates that she misses it, that she wants Rachel to keep smiling at her.

Rachel steps closer to her and asks, "Are you alright?"

Santana nods. She feels warm, like afternoons spent under a blanket with her madre, cuddling and listening to the sounds of her abuela cooking Christmas dinner in the kitchen.

"Are you sure?"

Santana nods again. Her throat feels thick and her face feels hot. She takes in a shaky breathe. When did Rachel get so close?

"You don't appear to be alright," Rachel says gently. Rachel's hand is soft as she reaches up, brushing her fingers over Santana's cheek lightly. "You look like you've been crying," she continues, her hand lightly tracing across Santana's cheekbones and down her neck.

"I haven't," Santana says, her voice cracking slightly as Rachel's nails rake over her skin. Rachel's hand comes to rest on her shoulder, squeezing lightly.

"Are you sure? You just - you seem so sad."

"I'm not," she sighs. Rachel is staring at her intently and Santana can practically feel her breath across her skin, tickling at her neck and her shoulder and her cheeks. Tears well up in her eyes again because, god, no one ever looks at her like that and it's so wrong that Santana doesn't want it to stop.

Santana hates it. She hates her husband and she hates the way he looks at her sometimes, like he knows that she doesn't love him. She hates the way he treats their children, who deserve so much better than Santana and James. She hates that she can't be more for her family. She hates Christmas and how magical it used to be. She hates the way she feels all of the time, hurt and angry. She feels like a lost little girl out in the snow trying to find her way home and she hates it.

She cries then, wet tears falling down her face. She tries to pull away from Rachel, but her back is against the door and there's nowhere to go.

"It's okay," Rachel whispers, her free hand slipping around Santana's waist. She's still looking at Santana like she knows all of her secrets (and maybe she does.)

"I'm sorry," she chokes out. "I'm sorry. I just -"

"It's okay," Rachel repeats, leaning up and pulling Santana into her arms.

Her hands run across Santana's back, ghosting over the skin at top of her dress before slipping down to caress her lower back. Rachel's cheek is warm against her neck and her breathe is hot as she whispers in Santana's ear. Santana cries because it just feels so  _nice_  and she's not used to feeling  _anything_. Her hands grip the soft material of Rachel's dress, bunching it between her fingers as she lets herself hold Rachel's waist.

Rachel is small in Santana's arms and it feels perfect, the softness of Rachel's body pressed against her and slight swell of her hips as Santana's hands trail over them. James is tall and hard when he tries to hold her and it suffocates her. Rachel is warm and tender.

Rachel pulls away slightly, running her hands up Santana's arms lightly until they rest on Santana's shoulders again. Rachel looks up at her through her eyelashes and Santana tries to take her hands from Rachel's hips. Rachel grabs her wrists, looking down at them for a moment. She holds Santana's hands in place until Santana looks down, too.

She watches Rachel's fingers trace over the insides of her wrists, pressing her hands back where they were placed on her hips. Their bodies are flush against one another and Santana watches Rachel's chest rise as she inhales deeply. Rachel's body shifts slightly against her and she looks up again.

Rachel is close, her breath hot against Santana's cheeks. Her eyes are dark, deep and soulful as they stare at her. The light catches them and they shine and Santana thinks of Christmas tree ornaments.

"You can kiss me," Rachel says softly. (She  _does_  know Santana's secrets and the things she hides.)

Santana's eyes dart to her lips. "I shouldn't," she whispers. "You're a woman," she says first. "I'm married," she adds.

Rachel's hands slide across her shoulders, her fingertips brushing over her neck. "I know," Rachel whispers, her fingers sliding through Santana's hair. "I know, but..." she takes a deep breath, pressing closer. "Kiss me anyway."

So Santana does. She closes the last inch between them and presses their lips together. She feels Rachel's hands move against her neck and across her cheekbones, wiping away at her tears. Santana sighs.

They kiss lightly for a moment, unmoving apart from Rachel's hands on her face. They shouldn't be doing this ( _she_  shouldn't be doing this) but she doesn't want it to stop. Rachel makes her feel warm and cared about and even if it's just for a moment, Santana will cherish it.

She clenches her fingers around Rachel's hips, needing more. Rachel's hands rest at the back of her neck, pulling her down as they finally start moving. Santana feels like she's on fire and she lets it consumes her. She lowers her head to push against Rachel's lips, wrapping her arms around Rachel's waist and pulling her closer because it feels like the right thing to do.

Rachel groans quietly and Santana feels her tongue dart out to press against her lips. She realizes that Rachel is asking for her permission and she grants it eagerly, gasping as Rachel's tongue slides against hers. She grips the back of Rachel's dress, her fingertips tingling as she clenches her fists.

Rachel pulls away for a moment. "Are you alright?" she asks.

Santana's hands slide up her back, trailing around her shoulders and up to cup her cheeks. "Don't stop," she whispers, running her thumbs over Rachel's cheekbones. "Please."

Rachel kisses her again, reaching behind her and gripping Santana's hands, pulling them away and lacing their fingers together. She trails her lips across Santana's jawline, kissing and nibbling at her skin. Santana wants to hold on to something, needs something to ground her because she thinks she might be floating when Rachel's breath tickles her ear. She settles for squeezing Rachel's hands until her knuckles are white and Rachel's lips press against the skin below her ear and she says, "It's okay."

Santana's stomach tightens at the sensation. She feels Rachel's breasts pressed against hers and she wants so desperately to reach out and touch her but she doesn't know what to do. She settles for holding on to Rachel's hands tightly and letting Rachel kiss her neck. Rachel nibbles at the spot where her neck meets her shoulder and she practically whimpers, hating herself a little bit for how weak her knees go and how heat builds between her legs.

Rachel slips a leg between Santana's thighs, the rough material of her skirt scratching at her skin. Her dress rides up, slipping up her hips. She tries to pull her hands away from Rachel's (she needs to touch her) but Rachel won't let her, keeping their hands joined and their fingers laced together.

Rachel's thigh presses against her center and she gasps, her head falling back to hit the door. Her hips buck and she can feel wetness seeping through her panties. She thinks briefly that she's going to ruin Rachel's dress and she reaches out with their joined hands to tug at Rachel's skirt, somehow managing to raise it slightly.

Santana feels Rachel's thighs now, her skin soft and warm against her own. Rachel rests their hands on Santana's hips, pulling Santana against her. Santana is warm and wet and she moans as her center slides against Rachel's leg. She tilts her head down and Rachel kisses her again. She tastes like peppermint and it makes her feel full and a little dizzy and reminds her of the feeling she used to get when she ate too many candy canes.

They move slowly at first, Rachel pulling Santana against her, sliding her thigh against Santana's center. Santana feels pressure start to build up inside her until all she can do is squeeze Rachel's hands and kiss her as she shifts her hips. Her thighs are sticky with sweat and she can feel a wetness between them that isn't her own.

Santana nips at Rachel's lower lip, shifting her leg. She isn't sure what she's doing but she knows that it feels amazing and she doesn't want it to stop. She presses her leg against Rachel, who gasps against her lips.

Both of their dresses are going to be ruined. Santana can feel sweat collecting on her neck and forehead and there's a good chance that her makeup will also be ruined. But she needs to keep going. She decides to let them be ruined, let her dress and her hair and her makeup be absolutely ruined because Rachel is kissing her firmly and grinding down against her leg and there is absolutely no way that she is stopping it.

She can't stop the way her hips start to buck and cant against Rachel's legs, their thighs brushing continually. Rachel matches her pace, gasping and whimpering. Or maybe Santana is the one whimpering. She can't tell anymore.

Santana feels her muscles start to tighten, her thighs flexing and her toes trying to curl. It's vulgar, the way Rachel has her pressed up against the door and is sliding their bodies together, their legs and their centers colliding until Santana is crying out.

Her name slips from between Rachel's lips and she groans.

"Rachel," she pants. "Please," she cries, not knowing what she's begging for.

Rachel quickens their pace and cries out, kissing her deeply. Santana feels her, feels the way Rachel's lips slide against hers, wet and messy; she feels the way that Rachel moves against her, pressing them together over and over again; she can feel the sweat and the heat and the liquid between her legs and against her thighs. Santana feels her body tingling, her muscles twitching and shaking with every move that they make.

She can feel the way that Rachel kisses her like it means something important and like she knows everything about Santana. And Santana feels  _everything_.

She collapses against the door as the pressure releases from inside her and she loses herself in the burst of light that flashes behind her eyes. She pulls Rachel against her until she collapses, too, breathing heavily against Santana's lips. She presses their foreheads together.

"Are you alright?" Rachel asks her.

Rachel shifts and Santana gasps, her body still tingling. "Yes," she sighs. "Just - just don't move for a moment."

They stand there for a long moment, breathing together. Rachel kisses her sometimes and Santana lets her. Eventually, Rachel pulls away just slightly, their thighs sticking together. Santana whimpers, but she has no strength left to hate her own weakness. Rachel continues to hold her hands, her thumbs brushing over the backs of Santana's hand.

"I probably shouldn't stay much longer," Rachel says quietly.

"I -" she pauses, taking in a shaky breath and clearing her throat. "Could you come back? I mean, would you like to come over for lunch next week?" she tries, stuttering slightly.

Rachel ducks her head slightly, smiling up at her. "That would be lovely."

Santana nods. "I'm sure that the kids would love to see you again," she says, the fluttering feeling in her stomach telling her that the children aren't the only ones who would like to see Rachel again. She resists the urge to reach out and fix Rachel's hair, to run her hands through it until she reaches her neck. Her lips are swollen and Santana wants to kiss her again, wants to pull Rachel back to her and keep her there. " _I_  would like to see you again," she admits quietly.

Rachel surprises her with a quick kiss before she pulls away completely. Their hands slip apart and Rachel smooths her dress down. "I won't miss it," she grins.

Santana lets her slip away then and changes out of her dress, pulling off her earrings and her necklace. She still feels hot and her nightgown slings to her uncomfortably, but she likes the stickiness on her thighs and how swollen her lips feel.

She crawls into bed and James walks into the room quietly, shutting the door silently like he thinks that she's probably asleep. Santana sits up and watches him, making eye contact with him briefly. He says nothing, slipping off his dress shirt and slacks and replacing them with a pair of pajamas. James slides into bed next to her and pulls the blanket over his body.

"There's lipstick on your neck," she says to him.

"Yours, too," he replies, switching off the light.

Santana thinks of James and all of things that she hates. And then she thinks Rachel again, of Rachel comforting her shy daughter and teasing her outspoken son. She thinks of Rachel singing to her and Rachel's body pressing and sliding against hers. Santana falls asleep with a smile on her face.

* * *

Six months later, Santana moves in with Rachel. She packs her things and gathers up Liz and Tomas and moves them to the city. She tells James to have a nice life with his secretary. Rachel lands another leading role on Broadway and they move into a nice spacious apartment. They tell everyone that they're best friends and roommates.

Rachel teaches Liz how to play the piano and twirls through their living room with Tomas, teaching him how to dance. She drags Santana out to dinner at fancy restaurants because she "wants to show her roommate off." They take the kids with them sometimes because Rachel says that she wants to show them off, too. ("You're all so beautiful.")

They celebrate their next Christmas together and Rachel teaches them all about Hanukkah (and they decide to celebrate that, too.) They go ice skating and they bake cookies when they get home. Rachel makes them latkes and they sing holiday songs together as a family.

And night, they crawl into bed together and Santana slides over, pressing up against Rachel's side. She rests her head against Rachel's shoulder and Rachel laces their fingers together.

Liz and Tomas sneak in sometimes and crawl into bed with them, cuddling up close on either side of her and Rachel. Rachel kisses the top of her head and quietly starts humming to them. Rachel's fingertips caress her cheeks until Santana leans up and kisses her. Rachel smiles gently and sings about her favorite things until they all fall asleep together.

She has Liz and she has Tomas and she has Rachel. And Santana loves it.


End file.
